


Til The Night Closes In

by cloverfield



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, Love Bites, M/M, NSFW Meme, Oral Sex, Post-Series, Why Eat Out When You Can Eat In?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23544466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: The nape of Fai’s neck is as sensitive as it is appealing, and Kurogane makes sure to trail the tip of his nose there even as he breathes in deep, damp lungfuls of fresh-washed-hair-smell, humming happily as he does so.
Relationships: Fay D. Fluorite/Kurogane
Comments: 16
Kudos: 87





	Til The Night Closes In

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW meme fill. Prompt was 'KuroFai + rimming'. Why eat out when you can eat in?

Fai smells good. He _always_ smells good, even when it’s blood and battlesweat and ash clinging to his skin; even when it’s wet earth and the fug of a day marching miserably in the rain from one tiny village to another; even when they’re unwashed and tired and dirty, pressed together in a lean-to to wait out the dark.

But here, now, soft and warm and bathwater-damp, pale hair darkened at the roots and skin redolent with the soft scent of soap and hot water minerals, slumped soft and sleepy over the thickness of a plump and waiting futon - here, he’s too much to resist.

“ _Oof_ ,” laughs Fai, squashed into the pillowtop beneath the weight Kurogane lays suddenly atop him; his whole weight, flopped belly-down and heavy along the length of Fai’s spine. “Kuro-sama,” he protests, except with a mouthful of cotton it comes out like _kuwosmma_ , each vowel thick and drawling.

“This is rough treatment,” mumbles Fai, squirming a little in ineffectual protest as Kurogane makes himself comfortable. “Ah- _nn_ , that tickles.” The nape of Fai’s neck is as sensitive as it is appealing, and Kurogane makes sure to trail the tip of his nose there even as he breathes in deep, damp lungfuls of fresh-washed-hair-smell, humming happily as he does so.

“You smell good.” It’s an understatement, warmed with the pleasure of being able to do this: to just pin Fai flat beneath him, cage him in with arms and legs and know he is, in this moment, as safe and as happy as Kurogane can make him.

(The list of things Kurogane won’t do for Fai’s happiness is very, very short, but the list of things he will do is much shorter: it is simply one word, and that word is _anything_.)

“So you’ve said,” says Fai dryly, and mostly to the bed covers. He wriggles a bit, just enough to get one arm free. “Oof,” he says again, and that same arm bends awkwardly, a skinny hand with its thin, clever fingers attempting to pat Kurogane on the head but only managing a shoulder, and haphazardly so at that. “Care to explain why I’m being flattened beneath your - not inconsiderable - weight… or is this another ninja thing?”

It’s not a ninja thing. It’s a _Kurogane_ thing, and Kurogane wasn’t aware there were _things_ to _have_ until at least three days after they’d started sleeping together, around about the time Fai gasped wetly in his ear and bit him on the neck. That particular thing had been a short sharp shock of pain that bolted from the snap of Fai’s teeth on tender flesh and directly to Kurogane’s aching gut, tipping him from _feels good gonna come soon_ to _coming right now hoLY SHIT_ with all the subtlety of a lightning strike, his whole body electrified and vibrating in the aftermath.

He says none of this, of course, because living with Fai is a lot like living with a large and rather capricious cat: hair in your mouth at odd hours of the night, a tendency for your favourite articles of clothing to mysteriously disappear, scratch marks in tender places, and of course, the knowledge that any inch you give in good faith will most definitely become several miles lovingly conquered.

But while Kurogane’s thoughts have wandered, so too have his hands: drifting low to Fai’s hips, curling around their bony jut and rubbing with fingertips that will always marvel at the giving warmth of Fai’s skin. Especially here, where it sees little sunlight; especially here, where well-placed kisses can drive a man to distraction.

“Mm,” says Fai, squirming again. This time there’s something about it that’s welcoming, legs spreading and thighs parting enough that Kurogane eases comfortably between them. “I see there’s something on your mind, _ne_ , Kuro-lover?”

Kurogane has nothing to say to that and makes it known with the touch of his mouth: drags his lips against the back of Fai’s neck, flicks his tongue out to catch the slide of a water droplet, cool on skin flushed and warm. Fai wriggles, gasping, and Kurogane does it again: wetter this time, teasing with the edge of teeth, tasting _clean_ and _warm_ and _good_ beneath the glide of his tongue.

 _Mine_ , thinks Kurogane, but does not say. Not because he cannot spare the breath, but simply because he does not need to. This, Fai already knows.

His hands on Fai’s hips are steady, holding, metal fingers in bright contrast to their darker mirror, but both curl tight as he catches kisses down from nape to shoulder to spine. Fai gasps and Fai shivers and Fai _moans_ , deliciously, and Kurogane’s face warms with the thought they might be heard - but then he slides his lips sideways down and bites, just gently, the tight muscle that braids Fai’s spine and it suddenly doesn’t matter if anyone hears, not if he gets to have this.

“Mm, I– oh, _there_ , there is good,” murmurs Fai, shuddering where Kurogane sucks a red and blooming bruise below his shoulder blade, hips rolling. The sheets atop the futon rustle like leaves as Kurogane slips down, down, and each bite earns another whisper of _yes_ and _good_ and _please_ as he goes. Kurogane strokes his hands from hips to thigh, squeezing; the give of firm muscle beneath his fingers is both plush and satisfying, so he does it twice more just to hear Fai squeak and groan.

Another bite, harder this time, teeth sinking into the swell of a buttock and holding covetously tight; the sound that comes keening from Fai's gasping mouth is something like shocked and a lot like pleading. Fai’s legs come open beneath his grip, open wider, almost wide enough for Kurogane’s shoulders, and when he settles down between them - half on the futon, half on the floor, nipping and biting all the way up the inside of soft, soft thighs - Fai’s moan is high and reedy.

“You don’t – you don’t have, _have_ to–”

The slide of Kurogane’s tongue, wet and wide and completely unashamed, is answer enough. “Oh _hh_ –!”

Fai smells good here too, different but _good_ , musky and dark and secret. Like soap and bathwater, but also like sex and sweat, and the drag of Kurogane’s tongue over tender, unseen skin provokes the sweetest wail he’s ever heard come crying from that clever mouth.

He takes his time, and his hold is strong: it needs to be, with how Fai’s hips are bucking, are _rolling_ , rocking with the desperate rhythm of each throaty sob as Kurogane pins him to the mattress and licks him out slow, slow, _slow_.

“Kuro-sama,” gasps Fai, and “ _Kuro-sama!_ ” Fai cries, but Kurogane does not stop. Does not speed up, does not offer more - just the same deep, dragging slide, lips stroking wet and gentle. Fai will take his pleasure as it is given, and Kurogane has so very much to give.

And when Fai is all squirmed out, when he is helpless and trembling, stilled and shaking and sinking into the futon beneath the kiss of Kurogane’s mouth - then he makes of his tongue a spear and pushes in with a pressure that will not be denied.

Fai screams and comes immediately, the smell of it wet and sharp, astringent against the musky-salt taste that rides Kurogane’s tongue, but Kurogane _doesn’t stop_ \- not now, not yet, not until Fai is begging and shuddering all over, a fine tremble racing beneath his skin and his legs splayed slack and boneless.

At last Kurogane eases gently back, and cranes his neck; stretches the stiffness from his shoulders and wipes the wetness from his chin, licking the taste of Fai from his fingers as he settles into a comfortable kneel. The mark of his teeth on Fai’s buttock is livid red and bruising, lovely to look out, and Kurogane strokes his fingertips over it with something like satisfaction.

“You must be proud of yourself,” mumbles Fai, voice cracked and peeling with the edges of hoarse-screamed pleasure. His hair is a sexed-out ruin, soft and flossy and tangled, and his shoulders are completely relaxed, the soft line of his back gentled into complete and utter contentment. He looks like a painting of afterglow as it should be, and the warmth of that simmers in Kurogane’s belly like a job well done.

“Yes,” says Kurogane, because Fai’s not in the slightest bit wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Part #764523 of my continued essay on Why Kurogane Has An Oral Fixation (And Fai Is A Lucky Bastard).


End file.
